A Blind Reprise
by Miz Thang
Summary: Draco and Harry in a routine moment. Not a great one, either. For my au100 claim of Harry PotterDraco Malfoy.


**Title:** A Blind Reprise  
**Author:** Miz Thang  
**Characters/Pairing: **Harry Potter, HP/DM  
**Rating:** FRM  
**Word Count:** 1118  
**Warnings:** Slash, obviously. Angst.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but the little story's idea. Everything else belongs to who it belongs to.  
**Summary: **Draco and Harry in a routine moment. Not a great one, either. For my au100 claim of Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. This is the Big Ass Table. Also for hdangst's weekly prompt. Yeah.

"I had a feeling I'd find you out here," he said as he crossed the terrain, then taking a seat beside Draco in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. He looked at the wild assortment of plants, almost as if he wasn't really seeing them at all, and then at Draco. He could admit, at least to himself, that he had been avoiding looking at Draco.

Draco made a non-commital sound and Harry sighed, looking up into the starry night sky. The moon shone brightly and the stars sparkled, but Harry supposed Draco wouldn't appreciate Harry mentioning it. Harry waited for the longest time for Draco to give some kind of genuine reply. Which he didn't. The blond only continued to sit and stare into nothing.

"Are you going to be mute too? Because I have to say, I never thought I'd see the day."

"And I'm sure you're a shining example of having control over your mouth, aren't you, Potter?" Draco finally replied, still staring straight ahead.

"And there it is," Harry said with a small smirk, keeping his eyes on the stars above. "I thought we'd stopped with the last names."

"We did. A long time ago." Draco said shortly. "It's just, when I have the nightmare and I remember – "

"It's comforting." Harry interrupted knowingly. And he did know. He'd been there enough over the years to know. He slid closer to Draco. "When did you stop going to the library and start taking the chance of coming all the way out here?"

"Scared I'd walk off a cliff?" Draco asked, his voice holding a bit of a derisive note.

"A bit." Harry replied.

Draco turned to look at Harry, his grey eyes holding a certain vacancy that Harry hated. He wanted badly to go back to the days when they could at least settle on him in rage. This vacancy was unnerving and Harry didn't bother turning to face Draco because it was a quite useless action.

"You can pretend I'm not looking at you all you want, Harry."

Harry wanted to tell Draco that he really wasn't looking at anything anyway. He didn't. Instead, he looked at Draco. "Don't – "

"Do that? Well, I don't really have a choice, do I?" Draco asked, his voice turning bitter. He faced the gardens again. "The choice was…_made for me_, by my dear, loving parents."

"It's oka – he was – they were only trying to help." Harry said carefully, never believeing the day would come where he'd defend Lucius Malfoy, wrapping his arm around Draco, as if to comfort and protect him. He turned the other boy to face him. "I love you."

"Hmmm…the 'L' word. Four letters, one syllable…and they supposedly mean so much." Draco mumbled. "Why on earth should I believe you, Harry?"

"Because I do." Harry answered.

Draco smiled thinly. He reached forward, careful, almost as if he was afraid to not touch the right thing, as if he couldn't see Harry sitting right in front of him. His hand landed on Harry's cheek. "How should I know, Harry? I can't see it in you expression – which I'm betting is unassuming and serious, but who knows if it's insincere? I can't see it in your eyes – are they still as…as bright, and as green as they were the last time I saw you – "

"Draco, don't start this again – "

"Are – are the stars still as bright in the sky, and is the moon still round, and – "

"Draco, damn it all – "

"Are the portraits in the Manor all sneering when I walk by, because there's no heir for them to prey on – "

"Draco!"

"Because…because I fell in love – with you, and because I told them to all burn in hell – "

Harry grabbed Draco and held him close, tightly, even as the blond hit him (hard) to get away. He was elbowed in the ribs and Draco had knocked them off the bench (and not to mention his glasses had fallen off so Harry was almost as blind as – ) but Harry held on strong, pinning Draco to the ground. "Stop it."

"I'm blind." Draco said, his struggle suddenly ending, and his voice so deadly calm that it scared Harry more than his panic when he spoke that way. "I remember, so clearly, the last thing I saw. Voldemort, ready to make my father pay for his failure to search for his lord, for pretending that he hadn't ever served him. Deciding that…"

"Draco," Harry whispered in the blond's ear. "I'm begging you to stop."

"_Deciding that_…his only son would be _blind_. Sightless. Completely and utterly. With no solution. No cure. Forever and ever. And – I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't do one _bloody_ thing to stop him, to save myself – "

"Draco." Harry didn't want to cry. He really didn't. He figured Draco was doing enough for the both of them, but he still was. Crying, that is. "_Please_."

"To…to save my eyes…I didn't even do anything." Draco whispered. "_I didn't do anything_!"

"There was – nothing you could do."

"I'd just turned fifteen, Harry."

"I know, Draco."

"I was _fifteen_."

Satisfied that he wouldn't have to worry about Draco, Harry got off him, sitting on the grass. He stared up at the night sky again, his eyes drawn to the moon. Draco didn't move at all. They sat that way for a while, Harry not realizing how long until he noticed the beginnings of light creeping over the horizon.

"It'll be okay, Draco."

This was nothing new for Harry. He was used to this. He was used to Draco coming out almost every night, recently to the gardens, and having these episodes. And Harry _would_ tell Hermione, or someone, but he was afraid. Afraid they'd put him in St. Mungo's or somewhere, and then Harry wouldn't be able to help him. And Harry needed to take care of Draco…because, if he didn't, who would (and care)?

Draco gave a derisive laugh from where he lay on the grass, clothes and hair dishevelled, skin pale from his tendency to not want to go anywhere at all in seven years, eyes as vacant as they ever were. It sounded a bit on the manic side. "And what if it isn't, Harry? What then?"

Harry shut his eyes and wished he was blind to Draco's pain. Blind to his own pain. Wished he could be as blind as Draco and not give a damn, not care, not try, not pretend, not worry. But he wasn't. He wasn't, and every time this happened, he wishes he'd been there and could have saved someone else from Voldemort.

Barely, audible, he said, "I don't know."


End file.
